


Touch

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23879887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Klinger has a headache. Charles helps.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Touch

Touch 

Charles was reading. His body remained in Korea, but his spirit had been transported to other, fairer climes (though, in fairness, he would have dubbed almost any other clime fair when stacked up against this purgatory of lice, dirt, wounds, and wilderness.) For this reason, a moment passed before he recognized the figure that had stumbled in and knelt at his feet. 

“Headache,” the crumpled, miserable form managed. “Help.” 

Charles smiled at what he took for theatrics. Serving alongside Klinger meant being subjected to impromptu performances; sometimes the man was a gypsy, sometimes a damsel in trailing finery — and Klinger was the only one who knew his lines. If you got pulled in you had to ad lib along as best you could and hope Colonel Potter appeared soon to call, “Cut!” (which tended to sound suspiciously like a threat of demotion or court martial).

Then Klinger buried his face in his lap. Charles stiffened; this was real then. Only desperation or true misery would lead Klinger to this course, given the game they’d been playing. Unless... Did he dare hope? 

“Klinger, you know the best thing for these things is an injection. Come along.”

Klinger didn’t stir. “Can’t. Hurts. Do something.” 

“I assume you’ve run through the standard remedies? Aspirin? Caffeine?” 

“Yes. So either you help me, or help me find the nearest gun.” 

“I’m a doctor, Klinger, not a miracle worker.”

The Corporal just moaned. _Alright, then_ , Charles thought. _We’ll call that consent to terminate this asinine touch-me-not policy of yours then, shall we_? Having so reasoned, he placed his thumbs high on the back of Klinger’s neck and dug in. The muscles there were as hard as old-growth roots; they refused to yield. But Klinger didn’t jerk away or start scrabbling for an exit. 

Charles sought out pressure points, feeling something like a fencer trying to angle past his opponent; this headache fought back. He remembered, then, what Klinger called such afflictions: black spiders. Tracing corded muscles, Winchester could almost imagine them tormented by eight limbs or pierced with poison. 

When Klinger relaxed a little, Charles almost sighed in relief. He was doing some good, it seemed. Then he somehow transitioned from good to great, changing the caliber of the moans coming from his downed charge. 

“You’re taking an awfully big risk putting yourself in my hands this way,” he said as Klinger squirmed after deeper contact. 

“Don’t care. Hurts.” 

Under the guise of vanquishing pain, Charles tangled his fingers in his hair. “God, how I’ve wanted you like this,” he murmured, looking down on his dark head, feeling the weight and warmth of him on his thighs. “Even the moans are right.” 

“I’d laugh at you but I think it would kill me,” Klinger replied. 

Charles kept at his work, manipulating tense groupings of muscles; at least Klinger needed him for this. He could have gone to someone else. And while he didn’t want to see the man in pain, he couldn’t help but appreciate the fact that as long as he was in pain, he would stay. It was an opportunity of sorts, and a Winchester never missed an opportunity. “You still don’t believe me?” he asked quietly. 

“I believe that you believe that you feel something for me.” He looked up, letting Charles see his eyes for the first time in twenty minutes. “And I appreciate it, Major, I do. If I can turn your head, even a little, I must be okay. But I won’t wreck your life.” 

“Maxwell, I am in a war zone in a tropical hell. My living quarters are called the Swamp. What could you possibly wreck?” 

In a show of genuine compassion, Klinger nuzzled against his knee. “It’s a non-starter, Major.”

“Alright. I won’t cause you further distress when your own body is in revolt against you. Did I help at all?”

“Absolutely. You have great hands.”

“And yet you insist on limiting them to your neck and shoulders.” 

Klinger shot him a look and he capitulated. “Fine, fine. At least let me help you get settled.” He turned down the covers on his cot.

“Here?”

“You don’t look like you can make it much farther without collapsing.”

Klinger lacked the requisite strength to argue. And it was kind of nice to be tucked in and cared for, even if he still felt that such care was misguided. The Corporal was fast asleep in the Major’s bunk when Hawkeye Pierce and BJ Hunnicutt returned from rounds. 

“New section 8 gambit?” Hawk guessed, seeing Klinger in the bed. “Narcolepsy?”

“No.” Charles sat his reading aside for the second time. “The Corporal came to discuss something with me and was overcome by weariness.” They would believe this; they knew how hard Klinger worked - and often in heels no less! And Charles had no intention of handing his private affairs over to these tiresome creatures. 

BJ gave Hawkeye a look. “Visiting with enlisted men, Charles? You’d better be careful. Korea’s softening up that veneer of snobbery of yours.” 

“Good breeding is inborn, Hunnicutt, not a veneer. I shall devoutly hope, however, that your propensity for disrespect is merely a borrowed front. I don’t look down on Corporal Klinger.” 

_Score one for Chuckles_ , Hawkeye thought. He didn’t like to see BJ trounced, but seeing Charles show his fangs in someone else’s defense was refreshing. Still, it was best to intervene before BJ got his back up. “So where are you going to sleep?” he asked Winchester. 

“I’ll just scoot him over. He’s small.” 

This pronouncement did exactly what Winchester had hoped: it so shocked his companions that silence was restored and he was able to read in peace. 

***

An hour later, the only light in the Swamp came from the vents in the door of the stove. Hawkeye and BJ had gone through their nightly rituals and retired. Careful not to bump Klinger, Charles took himself to bed, hoping sleep would banish the man’s headache. To his surprise, when he had settled in, he was met by bright eyes. 

“That was nice of you,” the Corporal said. 

“What’s that?” 

“Keeping it between us. These headaches. I don’t need everybody acting like I’m made of glass and watching me all the time.”

“Maxwell, if you’re trying to avoid attracting stares, I suggest retiring the blue velvet riding outfit. Much as I would miss it, it does dangerous things to your hips.”

Klinger muffled a bark of laughter in a pillow. Charles waited impatiently for him to reemerge. “Shall I take it from your renewed sense of humor that your pain is somewhat less?” 

“Yeah, thanks to you. Thanks, Charles.”

“My pleasure.” 

To his surprise, Klinger actually snuggled into him. Winchester cautiously put an arm around him, wondering at how thoroughly the barrier between them had been broken down. 

“Figured I owed you,” Klinger explained. “Don’t get too pleased with yourself.” 

“You misunderstand. I’m pleased about you. I’ve always wanted to hold you like this.” 

Across the room, two pairs of very wide eyes were fixed on one another. Moving with maximum stealth, Hawkeye held out a flattened palm, making it an impromptu surface. 

BJ tapped against it, the motion soundless in the dark. ::Are you hearing this?:: the message-in-Morse ran. Hawkeye nodded back, then made a shushing sign. 

Klinger sounded sleepy now, but something else, too. Coy? “Tell the truth, Major. If I had really been on my knees like that, like you want, would you have used your hands? Pushed my head down?”

For nearly three minutes, a shocked silence held sway in the Swamp. Hawk’s hand gripped BJ’s so hard his nails left marks. When Charles spoke, he didn’t sound at all like himself. 

“Are you trying to punish me for something, dear-heart? I thought you had pronounced this a non-starter.” 

“Just curious.” 

“Curiosity can be dangerous, Max. And not just for felines.”

“Yes or no?” 

“It would have depended on you. You won’t want to hear it, but I believe I can read you fairly well. I would have wanted to push you down, to hold you to me, but I wouldn’t have done it for one second if it scared or hurt you.” 

“I would have let you. Truth is you’re the only officer whose command I like to be under.” 

Charles’ pleased exclamation cut out when Klinger covered his mouth. 

BJ’s next message contained only three words. ::Oh my God.:: He paused and tapped again. ::Charles?? Our Charles?? In love with Klinger??:: 

Hawk motioned him to flatten his palm so that he could answer. ::Yes. And it’s kind of turning me on.:: His fingers danced, scraped to cause sensation, their message wordless this time but perfectly understandable. 

Cursing his inability to transfer himself to Hawkeye’s cot without bringing an abrupt end to what was going on across the room, Hunnicutt gritted his teeth. He wasn’t big on stag films; seeing naked bodies seemed to bring out the clinician in him. He’d find himself thinking things like: she should get checked for scoliosis, or: look at those eyes. Bet he’s a hard drinker. Hearing someone vocalize their pleasure, however... well, that was something else. 

::Hot:: he tapped to Hawk and he didn’t mean the output from the stove. What the hell was Winchester doing over there? Klinger sounded like he was dying - happily! - and Beej knew they hadn’t had time to do more than kiss. Did boarding schools teach some advanced form of making out? This was going to fuel some very entertaining bull sessions later. But until then, he decided to answer Hawk’s finger play. He stroked up and down the long digits and saw Hawkeye smile in the dark, gleeful at getting him to give in so easily and in a situation that carried such risk. 

“Tired of me already, Major?” they heard Klinger ask above the blood pounding in their ears. 

“Don’t be absurd,” Charles, the Swamp rats noted, sounded deliciously out of breath, even at a whisper. “I merely paused to suggest that if you wish to carry this any further, we might repair to a place where we are somewhat less likely to awaken an audience.”

The audience - which was very much awake - suppressed a mischievous snicker. 

“I have the keys to the VIP tent,” Klinger answered, “but, Major, are you sure you can walk there like this?” There was a shifting sound and Charles almost hissed under what Hawkeye and BJ surmised was a slow caress... below the belt. 

In that moment, they expected Charles to say something about being a Winchester and the advantages it conferred. When he spoke, his voice was low and full with emotion. “Max, to spend one night with you, I would crawl there on my hands and knees. I rather thought you knew that already.” 

Klinger kissed him for that (Hawkeye and BJ thought he’d earned it) and whether walking proved difficult or not, the two quietly got to their feet and left, Charles’ arm around Klinger’s waist.

After celebrating their union in fine tribute, Hawkeye and BJ lifted a glass to the unlikeliest couple in Korea (next to themselves). They didn’t speak the words, but the gentle smiles they wore told how deeply they had been touched by the newfound happiness of their friends. 

End! 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to have a fandom-friend to discuss stories/ ideas with - so please say hello if you have comments!


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